No Place Like London
by OokamiManiakku
Summary: Set in London, years after Sweeney's death. This story is told from the POV of Toby Raggs and will be updated regularly. Updated: 5/11/09
1. Part One

**Notes:** I don't know where this came from. xD Just bear with me. Rated-R.

So many long days in Bedlam. So many long nights spent alone, cold, shivering in the dark with nothing more than three wet cement walls and one made out of iron bars with spaces only big enough to allow food in and nothing but the mice out.

It wasn't normal for someone to be locked in a cage like an animal, no matter how badly they treated you in the asylum. But for those of us who they thought of as dangerous... we were the ones locked up. Never to see the light of day again.

At least, that's what they thought.

But I proved them wrong. I always get what I want. Sometimes I just have to be a little patient before the door of opportunity creeps open. When that occurs, I just stick my foot in the doorway so it can't shut on me again and wait. Just wait.

I was good at waiting. Always had been. It was probably the only thing I was good at besides being a barber. Yes, a barber. But would they let me even _touch_ my tools in that God-forsaken Hell hole? Of course not. That would be _dangerous_.

Of course... I always got what I wanted. So I had my tools eventually. And I got out of that place eventually.

Had they discovered the body of the security guard yet? I wondered. It wasn't easy to stuff him into the wall. After all, those cinderblocks were not that big and most were too heavy to lift easily. I'd had to really squeeze him to fit him in there.

They were always worried about me. I was too _dangerous_. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was dangerous. Maybe I was psychotic. They called it schizophrenia, didn't they? I had never really paid attention, but it was difficult not to overhear them when they talked about me. I was nothing more than an animal to them. If an animal heard someone talking about them, they wouldn't be concerned, would they? Especially not an animal who "wasn't in his right mind". That's what they said to me. Not my right mind? Did I have the wrong mind then? If so, how did I obtain it?

I thought back to the mass of security guard stuffed in the cement wall, dripping blood down the concrete instead of water from the rain outside.

Did I obtain that mind? I wondered. Was it even possible for a human being not to have his own right mind? Who was to say what was right and what wasn't? Good and evil were only a matter of perspective, after all....

The wet streets of London hadn't changed much in the time I had been gone, although, _I_ had. Being only seventeen and locked up in an eternal abyss for eight years had changed me. I couldn't see so well in the light anymore. My irises had darkened a shade because of it. No more were they the color of almonds, but rather, of night. Night was when I saw best. My skin, not having seen the light of day for years, was pale and clammy. Although I had recently shaved, the stubble was back upon my angular jaw and neck and my chocolate-colored hair now hung down, around my face, and dripping wet.

Did I forget to mention that it was raining? It always rained in London. I didn't mind. When the sun came out my eyes hurt. I remembered the sun, though. I knew what it looked like and remembered the warmth it brought to my skin. Ah, such sweet warmth.

It was not warm anymore. London had grown cold and dark. It was nothing like I had remembered as a child. It was dismal... dark... eerie. Too many shadows running about all over. Too many ghosts.

"There's no place like London," I hummed to myself as I began the walk down the cold, wet cobblestone streets of this city of monstrosities. I hated it. Good ol' London. It was where I had grown up, where I had gotten beaten, and where I first killed a man.

He went by the name of Sweeney Todd. But almost no one knows that his real name was Benjamin Barker. And, like me, he too was a barber. A wicked, crazy man. A man Hell-bent on destroying his sexual rival and taking along half the world with him.

"There's a hole in the world like a great, black pit." I hissed. My walking became brisker. "The vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit." I was sprinting now. "And it goes by the name of London."

I stopped. In front of my heaving, shivering, soaked body was a tall building. The windows were boarded-up, the doors were locked, and at the top of the building was a well-worn sign that read, "Mrs. Lovett's".

I was home.


	2. Part Two

"May I help you, Sir?"

I turned my head only slightly to see the elderly man walk up to me. As soon as he saw my black eyes, a shiver ran through him.

"Is this for sale?" I asked quietly, evenly, staring at him to watch his expression.

"That place?" He asked, incredulously. He was now trying to keep eye contact with me in order to be polite, but his own sense of self-preservation was beginning to overwhelm him and he couldn't keep looking at me for long. Who could blame him? I was certain I looked more like a vampire than a man.

"It's haunted," the man told me. He had managed to drop his gaze and was now staring back at the building.

I followed his eyes. Curious about the old legends, I asked, "Haunted?"

"Yes."

"By what?"

"The demon barber of Fleet Street." His voice was a mere whisper now as he spoke. His face was long, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. The look seemed to me more like reverence than fear.

I smirked. "Demon barber?"

"Sweeney Todd, his name was." The man went on to tell me. "And his bonny lass, Mrs. Lovett. Absolutely daft, she was."

"And the boy?" I whispered.

He looked at me. "The boy?"

"I'd heard a boy stayed with them." I kept my eyes trained on the building, allowing no emotion onto my face.

"Aye." The man nodded. "He was corrupt as Hell too." He sighed and shook his head. "Poor lad. Sent away. Just as crazy as his old man."

My jaw locked. "His 'old man'?" I quoted.

"Aye. Sweeney Todd was his father."

_No, he was not!_ I wanted to reach around and choke the old man for assuming such a thing. That monster of a man, that crazy, insane bastard had never been my father!

"Is... that... so?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Aye." The man agreed. "You see, living in this place was a barber and his wife..." he whispered.

"A foolish barber." I hissed.

"A proper artist with a knife." He continued, as if he hadn't heard me.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit...."

"They transported him for life."

"It's filled with people who are filled with shit!"

"Got revenge, he did." The man cleared his throat. "At least, that's the ol' ghost story told 'round these parts."

"And what became of the boy?" I asked, doing my best to keep my voice even.

"Well..." the man shuffled where he stood. "Killed 'im. Mr. Todd, I mean. Killed 'em all." He crossed his arms. "Sent away to Bedlam, he was."

A small smile curved up my lips. "Killed them..." I repeated.

"Aye."

It was silent for a long moment before the old man cleared his throat and replied to me, "I don't know if it's for sale, Son. But I wouldn't go lookin' 'round there at all. The place is evil." He patted me on the shoulder before walking away.

I stood there in the drizzle for a very long time before slowly walking up to the door. "No place like London...." I hummed and tried the handle. Surprisingly, it wasn't locked. The door to Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shop swung open. Carefully, I stepped inside.

It hadn't been open for years. Cobwebs were thick in each corner. A fine layer of dust covered everything. The tools were still scattered all about, exactly as she had left them. Nothing was put in its proper place. I smiled.

"I'm home, Mum," I whispered.


	3. Part Three

I left the storefront to walk to the back of the building, where Mrs. Lovett's living quarters, my living quarters, had been at one time.

The first thing that I noticed was the cracked, dusty mirror at the end of the hallway. Although the silver glass was blanketed with dust, I could make out movement every time I took a step closer. Using my sleeve, I wiped the mirror off and looked at the reflection staring back at me.

"I can getcha for breakin' and enterin', Lad."

I turned slowly to come face-to-face with a young woman. Her pale skin and dark-colored dress were soaked through. She held a look of boredom on her face, which had sharp features and was surrounded by stringy, brown hair that hung down in a messy fashion from her up-do.

"I'm sorry?" I cocked an eyebrow.

She took another step into the house and looked around. "This ain't your property, Mista. Breakin' and enterin', you is."

I smirked slightly and looked back at the cracked mirror. "Terribly sorry, Miss. It's raining outside and... well, I needed someplace to wait out the storm."

"Ha!" She barked a laugh, startling me, and came to stand next to me. "You'll be waitin' for all of eternity then, Lad." She sighed, staring into the cracked mirror. "It don't stop rainin' much in this town."

"My apologies," I replied. "I haven't been here for... quite some time. It's difficult to remember which places are the best tourist attractions."

She looked at me. "You're a world traveler, then?"

"You could say that."

"What's your name, Bloke?"

"Toby."

"Toby...?"

"Just Toby."

"No last name?" She looked at me incredulously.

My dark eyes met hers. "I'm an orphan. Got no surname to speak of."

"Oh," she seemed embarrassed then and avoided my eyes. "My apologies, Lad."

"And who, may I ask, are you?"

"Addison."

"Addison...?"

"Just Addison."

I looked at her and she smiled tightly. "Got no surname to speak of, Love."

"And are you the one that owns this place?" I asked, looking around the ancient room with the peeling wallpaper, the cobwebs and the stains on the floor.

"Me? Of course not." She chuckled.

"Then who is?" I asked, becoming frustrated.

She shrugged, her bare shoulders pale against the light from the street outside filtering in through a crack in a boarded-up window close to us. "Maybe Mr. Cutteridge. He owns most of the properties on Fleet Street. You might find him if you like."

"Where?"

"Around Fleet Street, I wouldn't wonder." She shrugged. "He's a very busy man."

"Well then, I shall find him." I turned to leave.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr.... Toby." She called after me.

"Aye." I answered.


	4. Part Four

"There's a hole in the world like a great, black pit..." I marched through the rain, down Fleet Street, to the address given me by the grocer outside the pie shop. Apparently, this Mr. Cutteridge was the wealthiest man in the city, owning almost all of the properties in London.

As I walked up the steps to the large estate that I had been told was his, I noted the dark brown, wooden door and the white columns that told the outside world someone important lived inside.

I knocked three times on the old door and waited until it swung open. Standing in front of me was a man, shorter than I and wider. His balding head was dressed in a top hat that matched the rest of the classy clothing he wore.

He wrinkled his nose at the sight of me. Who wouldn't? I certainly wasn't dressed in fine attire. I wore nothing more than rags, with a pair of gloves on my hands and a scarf around my neck.

"Is there... something I can do for you, Lad?" He asked, instinctively leaning away from me.

"Mr. Cutteridge, I presume?" I whispered. He nodded. "I fancy buying one of your shops, Sir."

"You?" He asked, incredulously, looking me up and down again.

"Yes." I let no emotion cross my face as I spoke.

He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Which one, Lad?"

"The pie shop on Fleet Street."

His eyes widened. "The..." he stuttered. "That one?"

I smiled at his surprised tone. "Yes, Sir."

He barked a laugh and tapped his walking stick on the ground. "My dear boy!" He chuckled. "Have it! Free of charge!"

I furrowed my eyebrows, suspicious. "Really?... Why?"

"Well, no one will go near it." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "People think it's haunted."

"I've heard that."

"And you don't believe them?"

"I'm not one for ghost stories, Mr. Cutteridge."

"Even so, Lad. Something happened over there. It's evil, whether it's haunted or not." He nodded, as if confirming the statement to himself. "But, if you want it... please, take it off me hands. I've had about enough of it." He stepped back into his house and returned within a few moments with a roll of paper. He handed it to me. "Here. It's the deed."

I took the paper from him and looked it over before sliding it into my coat. I shook his hand and smiled. "I thank you, Sir."

"No, I thank _you_, Mr...?" He looked at me expectantly.

"Lavin. Toby Lavin."

"Ah. Well, thank you, Mr. Lavin."

"My pleasure, good Sir." I bowed slightly before turning to leave.

"Mr. Lavin?" Mr. Cutteridge called after me. I paused, but didn't turn toward him. "I apologize, but I don't think I've seen you around these parts. Are you new to London?"

I turned slightly and smiled. "Yes, Sir."

"And what is your business here, my good man?"

I paused before my smile widened so that my teeth showed. "I'm a barber, Sir. Just... looking for work."

"A barber?"

"Yes, Sir. The greatest in all of the known world."

His eyebrows raised. "Well, I suppose I will just have to put that to the test, my friend."

"Aye, Sir. You will be very welcome, I assure you." I nodded before continuing my walk down the street, back to my new property.


	5. Part Five

Addison had apparently left the shop by the time I arrived back. It was quiet again, with nothing but the spiders and cockroaches to keep me company. I shed my jacket and scarf at the door and looked around again. Humming quietly to myself, I made my way around the counter in the center of the shop, running my fingers along the hard countertop and creating trails in the dust. With every step I took, a new group of bugs scuttled away from me, hiding in crooks and crannies within the brick or peeling wall paper.

I smiled to myself. "It's good to be back." I whispered, for there was no one there to hear me but myself. "How I've... _missed_ this old place." I rubbed my fingers together to flick the dust off before my hand glided over my pant pocket. Sliding two fingers inside, I grasped the slick metal and pulled it out. The silver was shiny, new-looking, and very beautiful. Carefully, I pulled the blade from the handle until it was fully extended. Quietly, I whispered to myself, "At last... my arm is complete again."

_Nothin's gonna harm you..._

I froze where I stood, nothing but my eyes moving. My head eventually followed my eyes before I got motion back into the rest of my body. I gripped the handle of my straight-edge razor tightly. "...Addison?" I called.

_Nothin's gonna harm you, not while I'm around...._

This time, the voice seemed to echo from all directions. I turned around slowly. "Where are you, Love?" I sang.

The cobwebs in the corner of the shop blew in a slight breeze that seemed to come from nowhere. The dust from the table, the floor, and the walls kicked up in a small cyclone and drifted over to a chair at the table.

I narrowed my eyes.

The dust grew thicker and then finally settled around a dark figure.

"'Ello, Love."

The razor dropped from my hand, my eyes widened from the shock. "You..." I whispered.

The woman sitting on the chair giggled at my surprised look. She twirled a strand of red-brown hair in her fingers and smoothed her dark dress with her hands. "What? Surprised to see me, Love?"

"You're supposed to be dead!" I growled, blinking to try to make the image go away. But Mrs. Lovett remained. I held my head in my hands. "You're dead!"

"Well... it's nice to see you too...." She said sarcastically. I heard the creak of the chair and looked up to see her walking toward me. She had her head cocked to the side, her brown eyes dark and wide. "Are you all right?"

I took a step away from her. "Stay away from me."

"Toby-"

"No!" I roared, pulling another razor out of my pocket. I swiped at her with the blade crazily.

She looked bored as my razor went right through her figure. "Are you finished?"

My eyes widened and I stumbled backward, into the wall. "What... what is going on?"

"Toby, please... listen to me, Lad."

I covered my ears with my hands. "Leave me alone!" I screamed. "I got rid of you! I got rid of the both of you!" My voice was hysterical as I spoke. "You're dead!"

"Yes, I am." She shouted.

I paused and looked at her. She looked expectant, as if she were waiting for me to do something else crazy.

"I'm dead, all right? You can stop harpin' 'bout it now."

"Then... what..." I shook my head. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, sighed, and took a walk around the front of the counter that I was cowardly hiding behind. She trailed her fingers across the surface of the counter, but left no tracks in the dust like I had. "Well..." she began. "I've been here since me death, Lad."

"No...." I shook my head. "I was here for five years after you died. I never saw you then...."

Mrs. Lovett looked at me. "Well, somethin's changed then, dearie. Did you hit your head?"

"No."

She pursed her lips. "Poisoned yourself? With arsenic, perhaps?" She smiled.

"No." I narrowed my eyes.

"Well, what 'appened to ya!" She put her hands on her hips. "You been gone for ages, I didn't figure you was comin' back."

"I-" I paused. "It's none of your business." I hissed.

She raised an eyebrow. "Now, now. Don't be like that, Love." She walked up to me slowly and I couldn't back up any further, so I just stood there, watching her. Tentatively, she raised her gloved hand to my face and stroked my cheek, although I could feel nothing but wind against my skin.

"Aw, ain't you a handsome one now?" She whispered.

Were her eyes glassy with tears? I swallowed hard as I looked at her. "Mum..." I whispered.

She put a finger to my lips but, again, I couldn't feel it. "Easy now. Hush, Love, hush." She smiled softly at me. "Nothin's gonna harm you," she sang. "Not while I'm around. Nothin's gonna harm you, Toby... not while I'm around...."

"Demons will charm you..." I whispered.

She smiled at me. "There there, now, Love."

"You... you're a ghost then." I whispered.

Her eyebrows raised. "I s'pose."

"Or your a delusion." I looked down, my eyes focusing on nothing in particular. "They told me I was daft. Per'aps they was right."

"No, no, not daft. At all." I saw Mrs. Lovett's hands try to lift my chin up and I let her. "Poor thing."

"I've got to be." I stood up and walked forward, through her figure. I bent down to pick up my razor off of the floor. "This can't be real."

I heard her gasp and I stood back up, spinning around to look at her. She looked shocked.

"Them's is Mr. Todd's razors, ain't they?" She asked quietly, panicked.

I gritted my teeth. "No, not Todd. That man is dead. They're mine now. All mine." I grinned.

_I beg to differ, Son._

The wind picked up around me and I saw the dust a-swirling again. The cloud flew behind me. I closed my eyes. "Not you too...." I whispered.

"I believe you have what belongs to me, Lad."


End file.
